


Dancing On My Own

by moodyblueangel



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: M/M, angel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:19:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyblueangel/pseuds/moodyblueangel
Summary: More than any other angel, Drummond felt like he fully understood his place in the world. That is, until a surprise assignment sends his whole world crashing down.Will he be able to fully complete his mission, or will everything Earth has to offer distract him from his task?





	1. Where Angels Fear To Tread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whydidtheydothis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whydidtheydothis/gifts), [twocandles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twocandles/gifts), [animateglee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=animateglee), [Stardust1980](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardust1980/gifts).



Heaven was efficient. That wasn’t their official slogan, but it was certainly true. Drummond had heard stories from the other angels about what the humans thought heaven was like. He listened to the others chuckle as they retold descriptions of large, brazen harps, glowing halos and reciting images of angels wittering away days, while sitting merrily on clouds.

Perhaps it had been more relaxed once. Perhaps there was more time for choice and pleasure. However, after the Primis War that tore the kingdom in two, regulations were put into place, rules extended, and Heaven was run with a much tighter, firmer and stricter hand. They all understood why that had to be compliant. He’d heard stories about the carnage after the war as well. There were no laughing faces then, as they described a time when the whole kingdom nearly fell; when brother turned against brother and they were all left to fend for themselves.

Now though, Drummond was sitting at his desk, reading through scrolls of names and events for the current Earth Year of Eighteen Hundred and Forty-One. It was his job to mark anything significant and hand it off to his supervisor. There were hundreds of other angels working, at desks just like his, doing exactly the same job. Drummond took comfort in that. They were all working towards a common cause and they all knew their place. There was a structure, a method and a procedure that they all followed.

He was currently reading through the events in Paris of July of that year, when he noticed a shape appear intrusively in the corner of his vision. He looked up to find Emmanuel hovering over him, looking tired and unimpressed. He was a Celestial Messenger, sent to pass communications to any other angels. 

“You are wanted straight away to see Harahel,” he announced. Drummond was a little shocked. Harahel was an angel that was high up in status. He had never seen him before. What could he ever want with him?

Closing up the scroll he was reading, he fussed with a few other items on his desk, making sure they were all in the correct place. When satisfied, he walked around the side of the desk. Emmanuel held out his hand. Drummond took a deep breath and grabbed on to the angel’s fingers.

If Drummond had to describe to a human, what it was like travelling with another angel, he supposed it would be like rolling down a large hill, everything sweeping past in reels, the flash of the sun swirling around your head. Snippets of aroma hitting the back of your throat, but not staying long enough to identify any of them. There was fear, but also a tinge of ecstasy thriving through.

Finally, Drummond felt the swirling sensation fade away and the new scenery come into view. He felt Emmanuel let go of his hand and then motion for him to follow. They arrived at a large wooden door, so big that he couldn’t see where the top of it ended. It just seemed to fade into the distance, like trying to see through fog.

Emmanuel rapped quickly on the door three times, before moving his hand to turn the handle. Drummond noted that it seemed to glow when it connected with his palm, as if the object itself was giving him permission. There was a click and the door slowly opened. The other angel motioned for him to enter the room.

Tentatively, Drummond took three small steps through the door. He noticed the bright, slippery marble underneath his feet as he continued walking forward. He couldn’t quite see what he was walking towards, but the walls either side of him seemed to be moving in. As he was slowly pacing, he was looking at all the boxes that lined the shelves of the walls. 

All in different sizes and forms, all made from different materials. There were small pink music boxes, large brown chests decorated with bright gold locks and miniature, green jewellery boxes; the variety just went on and on. Oval boxes, square ones, rectangular and prism shaped. Every single shape, size and colour box you could imagine sat on never-ending shelves.

He started to make out something in front of him, the haze was lifting, and he started to see a huge wooden desk. Dark brown in colour, with legs that seemed to look like the roots of a tree, it seemed as if the item was alive itself. There was an emblem on the front that Drummond couldn’t quite make out. It looked like a woman screaming. The desk on top was empty apart from a single folder. His gaze travelled higher, to the figure that sat before him.

“Drummond,” said the voice, deep and rough, like it had been scraped and clawed at from the inside. “We’ve been expecting you.” The figure motioned to a dark form next to him, standing commandingly, adorned with almond shaped eyes, a willowy stare and a fixed smirk at the mouth. 

“Hello, Harahel,” he said addressing the seated figure. He had never met the angel before, but he somehow knew who this was, as if his thoughts had been penetrated by just being in the celestial being’s presence.

Harahel leaned forward and started moving his finger around the edges of the folder, “We have an assignment for you. You are to be sent to Earth for a case.”

Drummond was speechless. He was a Reader, he had a desk, that was his position. It always was and always would be. No one ever changed roles, no one dared to ask and those in power would not want to rock the boat by suggesting it. There were other angels that were Case Workers, that were sent to earth on assignments. Sometimes when they returned, they would come and sit in the Readers common room. They would be plied with everyone’s rations of wine and fruit and all the lower angels gathered round and heard tales and stories of their travels. Inventions that had been discovered, wars that were on going, even little, small, seemingly uninteresting tales were gobbled up eagerly. Drummond was like all the others; he hung on every, last syllable of the stories, aching for more knowledge of Earth.

“Why me?” he asked, certain that they had picked the wrong angel. “I just work in the Reading section. This isn’t my job, I haven’t been trained for this.”

Harahel exchanged quick glances with the still unnamed angel, standing by the desk, “We watch all our angels, Drummond. You have been doing well. You are efficient and competent, you follow all the rules to the letter. A pure example of what an angel should be. We’re very pleased with your work.”

Drummond felt a rush of pride. He did take care with his work, he knew it was important and that working hard every minute of every day did make a difference. He was never late back from a break, never stood to gossip with the other angels, he understood that it wasn’t only his own time he was wasting.

“I’m just doing my job, Sir,” he replied, “I don’t know if I could be a Case Worker. I know so little about Earth.”

“You know enough,” the female angel quickly responded, before manipulating her harsh lips into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “I know you’ve listened to the stories, you’ve read some of the writing. Besides, as it turns out, you have some expertise in the role you will be taking.”

“As you know, Drummond,” Harahel continued, “We send our best angels down to Earth when we have some indication that events aren’t quite going as planned. We intervene, and as a result, both Heaven and Earth are happy, and the status quo is back on track.”

Drummond is nodding his head along with this. That’s part of his job, to calculate and identify areas of interest. He doesn’t make the decision to intervene. That job falls to someone else higher up, but he often wonders if he helped change history for the better.

“There is an important case on our books. Have you heard of the current Queen of England?” Harahel asked?

“Victoria?” Drummond replied. He had of course heard about the fledgling Queen and found something brave and interesting about her young ascension to the throne.

“Yes,” Harahel continued, although he was sure he heard the standing angel give a little huff of contempt. “Unfortunately, we think that the Queen will come under attack sometime in the next few years. We’ve have indication that she will be killed.”

Drummond was shocked. He didn’t like the thought of such a young human being, who was doing service to her country, be wiped out before she could really make a difference. “Are we going to stop it?” he enquired.

“We are. Well more importantly, you are. We will send you to London, England and place you in a position to keep a close eye on the Queen.” 

Drummond couldn’t believe he was given an assignment so important. “I will be at the palace?” he asked, stories of Princes, balls, enchantments and fairy-tale kisses running through his head. One of his favourite Case Workers, Gavreel, often brought back writings from Earth. They were of course limited, but he would lend them to Drummond sometimes. He ate up every word, no matter the story or author.

“Well…” Harahel stuttered, “It’s proved a little tricky to place someone in Buckingham Palace. We only have limited sources on Earth and somewhere as closed off as the royal family’s residence may take some time to reach.”

His heart sinking a little, he wondered how he was supposed to protect the Queen when he wouldn’t be anywhere near her.

“We’ve found a position for you in the Prime Minister’s office. You know who that is?” Harahel enquired. Drummond nodded his head. “You will be his Private Secretary. The job involves dedication, organisation and a good eye for detail, which is why we needed someone with your skills. Sir Robert Peel will not keep anyone in that job who isn’t pulling their weight, and if you’re not in the job, you won’t have access to the palace.”

“Okay, okay,” Drummond mumbled, trying to let everything sink in. Just thirty minutes before, he was sitting at his desk, doing his work and now he was going to be heading to Earth to work with the Prime Minister and be responsible in saving the life of the Queen. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Harahel held the file in his hands aloft and slid it across to him, “This has all the background information for your role, make sure you know it in case anyone questions you. This also contains information about the Queen, the Prime Minister and other significant people surrounding them. Oh, I almost forgot, humans tend to have two names. Luckily, Drummond will make a suitable last name, but I thought you could choose your first. Any ideas?”

Drummond racked his mind. He didn’t know why, but this felt important. Free choice wasn’t something he was always used to, but he found he relished this little bit of independence. Recently, Gavreel, had brought back a copy of ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock’, an editorial by Mr Charles Dickens. He had taken a shine towards the younger angel and let Drummond keep it, providing he didn’t let anyone know. It was the only thing Drummond truly treasured and he kept it well hidden. There was a character in the one of the stories Mr Dickens had written than appealed to him a little.

“Edward, “he replied, “If that is acceptable?"

“That sounds like a fine human name,” Harahel replied, “There is just three rules to remember, Drummond. The first rule; You must not let anyone know you are an angel. They must fully believe that you are a human. The second rule; we will be in touch to give you more specific orders now and again. You must follow them exactly, without question. The third rule; do not get attached to the humans. You are not one of them, you don’t have the same emotional perspective as they do, you must not be fooled into thinking otherwise.”

“Is that all?” Drummond enquired. In his current position, he had a rule book of over a hundred pages, which he was required to read over every evening. He still did this, even though he could reel off every rule and regulation in there from memory.

“Yes,” the senior angel said, “Follow those and you’ll be fine. We trust that you’ll make the right choices to help you fulfil your assignment. You will, of course, have a supervisor that will keep in touch with you and visit, from time to time.” He motioned to the angel standing next to him, “This will be yours. Her name is Florence.”

Florence, as he now knew her as, moved forward. Drummond thought her to look quite harmless and innocent, until she gripped his hand, “I’ve been promised that you’re going to be a very good boy, Drummond,” she said through slightly gritted teeth, “Make sure you keep to that. Or I will.”

Even if he had wanted to object, Drummond didn’t think he would be able to. He could feel the power in Florence’s grip. She was a commanding angel and she was transmitting that to him as a warning. He nodded his head at her, as an acceptance of all the terms required.

“Excellent, “she said, moving back to her empty smile, “Then follow me this way and bring your folder.” She led him to the corner of the room and pushed at the wall. Drummond was surprised to see it push back, until two beams of light appeared on either side. Florence turned around to him, “Remember, your first task is to find the Prime Minister. He will be expecting you. Right, off you go then.”

Drummond stepped towards the beam of light on the right-hand side. Just before he could step any further, Florence’s hand grasped his arm once more. “Three rules, Drummond. Don’t mess up.”

With that, she let go and practically hurled him forward. He tumbled into the light.


	2. Earth Angel

When Drummond opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness that seemed to disappear on forever. He squeezed them shut again, before opening them up as wide as they could go. Still nothing. He tentatively lifted his hand and moved his head. He felt like he was surrounded, bundled into a restrictive space, but the emptiness before him seemed a strange contrast. He struggled to look around for something, anything that would appear before his eyes. There was nothingness.

Out of the corner of his eye, something glinted, catching his attention. He moved his head forward, getting closer. A small slither of light was right in front of his nose. If he pushed into it, like Florence had with the wall, maybe he would be able to find his way back home to Heaven, instead of this gloom he was stuck in. Without thinking about it for too long, he took in a deep breath and with all his force, pushed forward.

His hands met something solid, but he found little resistance to the thrust and a huge glow of light appeared, foreign to his eyes after the previous darkness. His eyelids automatically fell, protecting his vision from the intrusion. He felt himself tumble forward, something hitting his right side hard and cold.

Then stillness. Slowly, he opened one eye, before following with the other. Looking above him, he could see a large, wooden container with open doors, which must have obviously been the object he just exited from. Hanging in the box was a variety of materials of different shapes and styles. A wardrobe! He knew what that was, but it begged the question of why he was in there in the first place, and where was he now?

Feeling slightly more orientated, he leant up on his hands and looked around. He was in a small room, with a low ceiling that slanted downwards towards a window. In the centre of the room, was the metal frame of a bed. A few other small comforts decorated the room; a dressing table, a full-length mirror and a small settee stood out immediately.   
He started to stand up and realised that his body felt different. He couldn’t quite describe it, but it was like he was aware of every single part of himself all at once. He didn’t feel ethereal in the slightest, but solid, grounded firmly in this new world. The colours of the objects around him appeared brighter and close, his nose was prickling with everything that was hitting it, making his nostrils flare with sensitivity. He smacked his lips together, overwhelmed by all the tastes that were tingling on his tongue. There was a loudness in his ears, though he could hear very little sound in the room, but a consistent thudding, rhythmic in its pounding. He pulled himself up to full height and walked over to the mirror, getting used to taking steps in his body. It was like he was on a tightrope, having to concentrate hard to keep his balance. He must be on Earth.

The reflection looking back at him from the mirror was the one he remembered, just with slight differences. His pale skin didn’t seem to glisten, but was matt and smooth all over, with only a twitch of a highlighted glow from the sun coming in through the window, beaming onto his body from his forehead all the way down to his toes. The hair on his head and body seemed less tempered than usual, becoming more vividly noticeable. There was a warmness now to the rich brownness of his hair and eyes. There were imperfections of freckles and marks he didn’t remember from before, spattered on his skin. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door swinging open. His head quickly spun around to look at the wardrobe, curious that another angel may be following him in. There was no movement there, but behind him he heard a shriek.

“Oh, for goodness sake, boy,” the voice said, clearly shocked. “Put it away! The sun’s barely up in the sky, and your knackers aren’t a sight I want to see before I’ve had my morning cuppa!”

Drummond turned towards the voice. In the doorway stood a rather stout, short woman, all rosy cheeked and frazzled grey hair. She was wearing a stained apron over a blue striped dress and wore an unimpressed look on her face. 

“Hello,” Drummond said, remembering that he was human now and must make sure his manners were all correct.

The woman gave an exasperated sigh and marched over to the bed to grab a blanket, waving it in his direction, “Go on, take it! I must say I’ve seen worse, but I’m not having a conversation with you standing around like that!” she said, waving the sheet at him.

Looking blankly at the cover, he was a little confused at first. Then he remembered that he wasn’t wearing clothes. He was so intrigued by the differences in his body, he didn’t think about anything else. His thoughts were a little swiss cheesed from the journey from Heaven and it was taking him time to adjust. He swiftly took the blanket and wrapped it around his waist, smiling apologetically at the woman.

Once the sheet was firmly secured, he held his hand out, “Good Morning, Madam. My name is Drummond, uh, Edward Drummond. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman snorted a laugh at Drummond, before taking his hand and grasping it in both of hers, “Oh, I know who you are, my lovely. I’ve been expecting you!”

Drummond wasn’t quite sure who she was or how she knew to be expecting him. In fact, he didn’t quite know where he was. He hoped it was at least somewhere on Earth, preferably London.

“Mrs Whittaker’s my name,” she said, giving Drummond’s fingers a squeeze, before rubbing her hands up and down his arms vigorously, “Come on now, duckie, let’s get you dressed, you’re absolutely freezing after your journey.”

“My journey,” he repeated, “Do you mean from heaven?” he said eagerly, although part of him thought that maybe he would scare the kindly stranger away.

The rosy cheeked lady let out a bellowing laugh. “Of course from bloomin’ heaven! Angels don’t just drop from apple trees now, do they? My, what a funny thing you are!”

As Mrs Whittaker started quickly flipping through the clothes in the wardrobe, Drummond looked closely at her. Was she an angel? Surely, he would recognise her as one. He’d be able to sense her as one of his own kind. However, perhaps that was an ability he had lost now he was on earth.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Whittaker, if I can ask. Are you an angel too?” Drummond enquired cautiously, a little worried about the response.

She stopped rummaging for clothes and pulled out a jacket and placed it gently on the bed, before turning towards Drummond to speak, “Not as such, love,” she said wistfully, “But don’t you worry about me, I know what you need and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Now, here we are,” she said shaking out some trousers and handing them to him, “Put on these breeches, I’ve laid everything else on the bed for you. I’ll give you a bit of privacy, though Lord knows I’ve seen more of you than I needed to! Give a shout when you’re done.”

She closed the squeaky door behind her and Drummond sat down on the bed, wriggling his toes slightly at the feel of the wooden floor underneath his feet. He felt like he was settling into his body a little. He didn’t feel so heavy and the thud of his heart beat was slowly disappearing into the distance. Mrs Whittaker had made him feel a little settled, although information was still crashing back into his brain. He was remembering details of his meeting in Harahel’s office and being handed the folder.

Drummond quickly jumped off the bed and skidded back towards the wardrobe. Where was his folder? He knew it was important; Harahel had said that all his research for his case was in there. He rummaged through the clothes hanging up, thinking that maybe it had stuck between the herds of jackets squeezed into the closet. After no success, he dropped to his knees and started feeling about in the bottom of the wardrobe. Suddenly, he felt something rustle and quickly grabbed at it. Pulling it out, he saw the manila folder containing everything he needed. He sat back on his haunches, before sighing with relief. 

Drummond felt tempted to start looking through it right away, even to just peek. Now he was here, he was getting excited about his actual case, too distracted before with just being on Earth. However, he knew Mrs Whittaker was outside waiting for him to dress and she didn’t seem to relish the idea of being around him when he was not wearing clothes. He looked down at his body and crinkled his nose slightly. Surely, it wasn’t that much of an appalling sight, was it? 

He lifted himself off the ground and quickly dressed with the clothes that were laid out on the bed. He had trouble with the last item, but attached it as best he could. “Mrs Whittikar,” he called quietly, “I believe I’m presentable now.”

The older lady slowly peered her head around the door first, before grinning and stepping into the room. Her smile faded a little when she looked at Drummond’s neck. “Oh, poppet, look at your tie! You can’t pass as a gentleman with a wonky necktie now, can you? Come on over here and let me have a look,” she said, beckoning him nearer.

Drummond approached the helpful woman and bent his knees slightly, realising that he was much too tall for her to reach at his full height. He looked down the bridge of his nose, as her quick hands worked, securing the tie. Once she was finished, she patted him on the arm and stood back admiring her work, “Oh, yes! Look at you. Ever so handsome. You’ll be breaking ladies’ hearts left, right and centre.”

Drummond quirked his head at her questioningly, “Now, don’t you look at me like that,” she said wagging her finger at him, “Just because you’re only here for work, doesn’t mean that the humans aren’t going to notice a nice looking boy, such as yourself. You just be careful now though, you hear me, duckie? Don’t give them,” she said, pointing upwards, “anything to complain about.”

Nodding his head in agreement, Drummond didn’t think that was to be a problem. He’d been told the rules very clearly, and he was comforted by the fact that his work record was impeccable. He knew how to follow the rules and understood that, especially now he was on Earth, there were far more important things to deal with. He enjoyed stories of romance and love just as much as the other angels, but he was here to save the life of Queen Victoria. He would not be side tracked from that. Anything else was frivolous make-believe, best enjoyed in tales and imagination.

“I will make you proud, Mrs Whittaker,” he said, smiling gently at the lady who had already helped him so much.

“I’ve no doubt about that,” she replied softly. “I’ll leave you alone now. Just remember you have to leave in an hour, if you want to get to work on time. I’ll write down some directions for you and leave them by the door.”

She gave him a little wave and then went out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. He waited until he heard her footsteps trot softly down the stairs, before he excitedly grabbed the folder and sunk down onto the settee, being careful not to wrinkle his trousers. He held the corner of the folder between his thumb and forefinger and slowly peeled back front cover. The first page that appeared to him was a painting of a young woman. Turning the paper over revealed that this was Queen Victoria; this was who he was sent here to save.

He read all about her childhood at Kensington. He wondered if she was ever lonely there. Drummond was always surrounded by so many others, and often ever so busy with work. He was never really alone. But he always felt by himself. He was very friendly with the other angels and enjoyed their company, but he sometimes felt that he didn’t think quite the same way as they appeared to. One of the case workers had brought a jigsaw puzzle from Earth one day, and snuck the luxurious item into the common room for them to see and play with. It had been used by the humans, of course, and once the puzzle had been completed by the angels, there was still one piece left in the box. It must have been included by mistake. Packed away in the wrong jigsaw. He didn’t know why, but Drummond empathised with that last piece. It looked just like the rest, but it just didn’t fit in.

Once he had finished reading about Queen Victoria’s life, he felt an even stronger desire to make sure he did his job well. When Gavreel used to lend him human writings, he knew he used to get too emotional over the characters, more than he really should. He couldn’t help himself though. There was something about them; their vulnerabilities, their foibles, their loves. He connected with all of it and dreamt he was there with them. Knowing Victoria was a real human, meant even more. It put a higher level of commitment onto everything.

Once he’d finished reading about the Queen, he browsed the other members of the palace. There was Prince Albert, of course, the monarch’s husband. There was research on other humans within the household; he read all about Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting and the royal couple’s family. Thankfully, Harahel (or whoever had composed the research) had thought to include information on etiquette at the palace.

After some time, Drummond realised he now had a fair understanding of the royal family and the life they led. It all sounded so unreal to him, like it was from a story and not something that was happening to real beings. He turned his attention to what would be his work life. He realised he had spent so much time going over every little detail of Buckingham Palace, he hadn’t yet looked at what his role would be with the Prime Minister. That would be after all, where he would spend most of his time, and his appearances at the Palace would be limited.

He read all about Sir Robert Peel and his policies. As his private secretary, it was clear that he must be in agreement with these too. This wasn’t something that was new to him. As an angel, they had to follow the regulations of heaven, to have an understanding of why things were the way they were, even if you were unsure. He did have doubts back home; questions formed over why things were done a certain way. It felt like a little niggling fly, zooming around his brain, that wouldn’t disappear. He always put it at the back of his head though.

Realising that if he didn’t leave now he would be late, he gathered up all the information and put it back into the folder. He opened up the door and stepped on to the landing. He could see it was a simple town house, little decoration, but with a few personal touches. He started to step down the narrow staircase. Sitting on the stairs were some items and a note from Mrs Whittaker. He picked up the scrap of paper and read it quickly. She had let him know that she had left a work bag for him, inside containing something for his lunch, a key to the door, directions to work and a folder to keep all his research in. He quickly peaked inside, before sealing it up and putting on his overcoat and hat.  
He stood inside the door, his feet reluctant to go any further. Everything in his life up to now had been planned, structured and prepared for. Now he was standing on the precipice, unsure what was to come next and with little instruction on what to do. He took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped outside.


End file.
